


Shadows, Blood and Smoke

by Alternateempress, NotASkywalker, PastelHanzo



Category: Call of Cthulhu (Roleplaying Game), Vampire: The Masquerade
Genre: Embrace, Inaccurate Catholicism, Multi, Nate's kinda creepy but yknow we love him, catholic written by a pagan, the irony isnt lost on me, vampire
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:22:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27883720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alternateempress/pseuds/Alternateempress, https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotASkywalker/pseuds/NotASkywalker, https://archiveofourown.org/users/PastelHanzo/pseuds/PastelHanzo
Summary: Stories based off of our various roleplaying games because we have far too more background building than is necessary for this game...Mask of the Vampyre (Game set in 1021 England)Shadows of the Strip (Game set in 2020 [Non-Pandemic] Las Vegas)Call of Cthulhu (Game set in 1920s Massachusetts)
Kudos: 1





	1. Removal of a Problem

The Witch's Cauldron, Las Vegas, 2018, Tuesday

There was only one thing Nate hated more than other kindred; And that was other kindred touching his things.

Granted, he hadn't _technically_ staked a claim on the woman, but he could feel the prickle of the territorial nature of his blood, and the Toreador that had been sniffing around the woman he had his eye on needed to be taken out of the equation before he could steal this particular eye candy.

He wouldn't be recognised, not yet, for his face was not his own tonight. He didn't want the game to end just yet. But this harlot Edmund was too close, had almost gotten her alone too many times. But he didn't know what Nate did, couldn't speak her real name like he could, couldn't be sure she was safe like he could, couldn't give her what she truly needed and deserved like he could.

No.

The Toreador had to be removed. Not killed, no, a Final Death was too easy a way out for this little cockroach. He would have to re-educate him.

Said Toreador was beside her right now, she perched on top of the bar, his hand on her thigh. Her laughter was forced, Nate could tell. She didn't want that creep. Not like she would want him.

She couldn't want this Edmund. Maybe she was being Awed. Maybe the slimy little Rose was using Dominate. It couldn't be genuine, it wasn't for him.

He had to force a growl down when the Toreador leaned close to her, whispering, making her blood rise to her cheeks. He could smell her blood from here...the Toreador couldn't be allowed a single drop. 

It was a blessing when his doll was lured away by another dancer. The night was young and they had money to charm from wallets. He'd be sure to leave a generous tip before dealing with the Toreador.

The Rhinestone's patio was due concreting, and Edmund was just the right size...

The Witch's Cauldron, Las Vegas, 2018, Wednesday

Antimony knew she was the prettiest little bunny in the club tonight, as she always was. She was the moneymaker of this establishment and they knew it, but she couldn't fathom why her shift had been changed from on-stage to table dancing at the last minute.

The grabbing hands were the worst of it. Up on stage, she was untouchable, above the pathetic old men waving money at her with hands bearing marks of hidden wedding rings. But that wasn't what was on her mind, not up on the table she was performing for. She barely noticed the dollar bills being pressed into her stockings, barely noticed the wandering hands. 

The gentleman at the back of the club, in the dark on his own. That is where her eyes are. No girl on his table, no drink in front of him, and quiet. She had caught glimpses of him before, the girls whispered his praises even if they didn't know his name. A charmer's tongue with deep, deep pockets. She had to talk to him, it had to be tonight.

But she had to make it look natural, and not like a retreat from the hand wandering up her ankle, she kicking it away with as much grace as she could muster, and she slinked from table to table like some lithe creature, a natural progression to his dark, lonesome corner.

Nothing could take her attention from him when he spoke, his disarming smile sending a shiver down her spine when she crouched on the table before him.

"No-one come to see you yet, Sugar?" seemed like an innocent enough reason to be here, she had to be here, her eyes couldn't leave him and when he smiled a little wider, putting his full attention on her, she felt like melting.

"I have a drink on the way," _Lord above he sounded like sex_ "I was just waiting for the show to start". 

A pathetic little whine crawled up her throat, but she held it down with a warm grin and a push to her feet, winding herself around the pole attached to his table like a cat seeking it's master's attention. "Well...how about I keep you company until then, Sugar? You look awful lonely over here".

His eyes tracked down her, and she could feel herself shivering. "Please, do feel free, Habibata". His voice was a low purr and a sense of giddiness fell over her at the thought of being the only thing this man had his eyes on. Even when another worker brought over his champagne, he only watched her, but it wasn't the salacious stare of a man just looking to get his head wet, it was analytical, like he was looking for something specific. She felt her posture fix itself back to her ballet days automatically at the scrutiny.

As she moved before him, she watched as he pulled a notebook out, nodding to himself and writing things down. She tried to catch a glimpse, but pouted when he flicked it shut and smiled at her again.

"What's with the notes, Sugar? Am I boring you?" The pout wasn't necessary but it seemed to bring a warmer smile and mirth to his eyes.

"No," He sank a little further back into his seat, legs parted in a display of 'Here I am', "I'm adding you to my list of careers to keep an eye on".

Before she even knew the words coming out of her mouth, she twisted around the pole to grin at him with a girlish giggle, "You can keep an eye on me all you like, Sugar. You're not one of the handsey ones and we're full of 'em tonight".

There was a moment of bleakness when his eyes moved away, to the man across the club nursing a stepped on hand, before they're back on her. "I saw....Asshole. Good you got his hand before I got him".

Now _that_ was something that caught her attention. She paused in her movements and crouched before him again. "What would you have done?"

There was an almost predatory look to the man as he sat forward, elbows to his knees, with a calm, lazy smile. "Depends on him. I'm...not a violent man by nature. But creeps like that rarely like being confronted about their behaviour. When threatened, the neanderthal often resorts to violence".

Antimony tried to stifle an almost surprised giggle, but the dimming of all but the stage lights drew a sigh instead. "Looks like our time is up, Sugar, the show's about to start". Pushing to her feet and leaning against the pole, she pouted a little. What she wasn't expecting was the way he picked up the bottle of Champagne and wiggles it at her.

"Are you going to still be working? Or shall I ask for a second glass? Or, if you're hungry, can I treat you to dinner? Is that forward? It's been a long time".

How was he this awkward? It should be creepy, but Antimony couldn't bring herself to find it anything but endearing, or perhaps it was just how stunningly handsome this man was...fuck she didn't even know his name, but she accepted his hand off the table.

"Give me a sec to throw a jacket on and I'm all yours, Sugar"


	2. While Nate's Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Antimony and Ilya get bored with their employer away on 'Coterie business'

Anastasia hadn't been working the bar at the Rhinestone Shade for very long, but even she knew it was weird when Antimony was rooting around behind the bar looking for kine food. They were kindred afterall, and it was bizarre to watch the small Tzimisce stuff packs of popcorn into her side bag. The Malkavian would have chalked this up to her being broody that Nate wasn't around recently (as those two had the subtlety of a brick when it came to hiding their not so standard Sire-and-Childe relationship) had Ilya, the broody and quiet LaSombra loner, not been doing exactly the same, muttering that he couldn't even eat these things.

As soon as they had appeared to steal from the bar, they had vanished into the private elevator and vanished to the upper levels. Anastasia shook her head and resumed wiping the bartop down. If they were up to shenanigans, Nate would deal with it.

What the Malkavian didn't know was Antimony's master plan; introducing her broody co-worker to the wonders of modern vampire movies. Specifically starting with 2011's Fright Night. Nate got into a huff with her for gushing about the book 'Dracula', so she had to hide this particular gem until she could lure the LaSombra begrudgingly into a movie night again. Ilya would always deny enjoying their little hang outs, but she had seen the smile he had when they watched Public Enemies and she had made the single worst impression of Nate she could muster.

Of course, Nate knew about these little movie nights, and as much as he had distaste for Ilya, it stopped his dearest doll going on a bored rampage while he was away, so he allowed them to continue. Which lead to Antimony half lounging on the sofa, and Ilya sat on the floor, passing a bottle of Bloody Bloody Mary between the two, much to Antimony's childish teasing of 'Ilyusha's got cooties!'.

"I don't understand why they're so adamant that Nevada kindred would be so...blah" Antimony sighed from her position upside down on the sofa, "Like sure, I'd let that man do all sorts to me, but I've never seen a kindred so...boring".

"Not everyone can be a showgirl, but I suppose you have a point. Even the Nosferatu here have a side of glamour," Ilya didn't want to admit they both knew who he was talking about when he said that, Antimony cracking with breathy laughter, something that always reminded Ilya to pause and take a breath. They didn't need to, but sometimes it was nice to remind oneself that they weren't entirely monsters. Or at least, she wasn't.

"Also what kind of name is Jerry? Like, sure, you'd choose a name nobody would suspect of being a kindred, but _Jerry_? He was doing so well with the tall, dark and handsome..." The Tzimisce pouted, plinking a piece of popcorn off the Lasombra's still augmented hair (He still hadn't forgiven Nate for that. Saved his plaything from Final Death and his reward was being punished with awful hair...). He rolled his eyes and threw it back at her

"Don't let Nate catch you saying that, or the rest of us will have to put up with him".

"Oh please, he was only angry because you dropped a ceiling on me, he's not that bad" Antimony gesticulates and the frankly pointlessly large television they were watching the movie on, "But enough about him, what about that Peter Vincent. Could you _imagine_ if the Second Inquisition sent someone like that to kill us? Mio Dio, we did say we wanted someone on the inside, and I'd be all for working some Vegas magic on a hunter like that".

Ilya gave her a thump in the calf for that. "He'd be dead before you could sink your claws into him if he even looked at you, Krolik".

She stuck her tongue out in response. "What he doesn't hear won't -"

The sound of the elevator made her pause, and lean off the back of the sofa to peer at the door as the tall figure of Nate entered the room, throwing a look to Ilya that left no room for argument. He was to leave. The Lasombra sighed and turned the movie off. 

"We'll finish this one next time," Antimony assured, Ilya already half way to the door, and Antimony already being ushered away by Nate.


	3. Eyes Downcast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sister Rosemary ponders the recent altercation with Mister Kimble

It was a miracle Sister Rosemary found the resolve to not just pass out at the sight of Mister Kimble. The once humble and meek looking scholar now cloven hooved and squinting at her as if he didn't look like some hell-spawn walking. The bite of her crucifix in her palm was able to distract her enough at the time, but now sat in the chapel at Saint Raphael's, the thought shook her to her foundation.

These were exactly the creatures Father Thomas had told her about. Kimble had talked like a sweet gentleman who wanted nothing other but to sit and read; but the fact of the matter was he was no longer human, and instead a corpse eating monster. Turning her rosary in her fingers, she let out a wistful breath. Had she had the strength and resolve that Father Thomas had, maybe she would have been able to banish the creature.

But she didn't.

And she had frozen instead. Letting the chemist Davy see the creature off to safety.

Oh she was sure Kimble wouldn't hurt anyone, but surely Father Thomas would be disappointed in her, and that she couldn't bare to see. Not only for shaming her tutor and guide, but to see the disapproval in the eyes of a man she held in a regard far higher and far warmer than a Sister should for a Father, well it would just about break her heart. 

On her knees among the pews, it was easy to psych herself up to politely avert her gaze from him, and any man. If she avoided looking any man in the eye, it was not being dishonest about not being able to look at the Father. It would be easy, not many Priests resided at the Sisters of Saint Raphael, and if she was sent on more of these mysterious cases as a faithful eye, it would be less potential for bumping into him. Though she knew she would have to talk to him, suddenly avoiding her tutor would be suspicious.

This one little sin she could keep to herself.

With a quick prayer and a breathed 'Amen', Rosemary stood and turned to leave the chapel, only to smack directly into the chest of the very priest she had resolved to politely avoid. His hands automatically caught her arms as she stumbled back, to prevent her falling, but let go the moment she was stable, to avoid any unnecessary contact, and she found herself squashing down disappointment at the loss of his hands' warmth.

"My apologies, Sister, are you okay?" The concern in his voice called her out of her surprise from a sudden impact, and she took a few steps back, immediately forgetting the promise she had made to herself, forgetting to gaze away.

Father Thomas was imposingly tall for a priest, and that paired with the hauntingly blind eye and scars from the war should have made him a frightening figure, but his smile was friendly and reassuring, and the heights of his cheeks flushed from the surprise. Not a single brown or silver hair out of place, whereas Rosemary was sure she looked a flustered mess.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, Father, I should have been looking where I was going," she tore her eyes away from the Priest and to the ground instead, the shiny, well-kept oxfords just in sight, "I am alright though, thank you Father". She could hear him fold his hands behind his back, and feel his presence tilt a little closer, almost conspiratorially.

"You seem troubled, Sister, did something happen in your time away from here?" His question was sincere, he was concerned, "Perhaps we should walk, and you can unburden yourself".

She had to nod, Father Thomas wanted to help, and if anyone at Saint Raphael's could help her figure out what she saw, it was him.

Saint Raphael's was blessed to have a small orchard, where the Sisters and Holy Fathers could relax in their free time and gather the bounties of the trees when the season was right. There was a bite to the air, perhaps it would snow soon. Rosemary loved the snow, and how peaceful it made everything look, especially when she could sit inside and watch it fall. It wasn't cold enough to be uncomfortable yet, but she spied Father Thomas pulling his greca closer as they stepped outside.

"Now, Sister, what is it that troubles you so?" He had shortened his strides to allow the smaller nun a chance to keep pace with him. He watched as she took a moment to make sure she would get her words right.

"When we went to look into the disappearance of Mister Kimble, myself and Mister Davy that is, we...well we did find him. And what he had become. He was some...some...thing...he had hooves, and pointed ears, and tusks!" The distress bubbling back up was clear, and Father Thomas stopped walking to instead face her, stopping her short. 

"I have read about such things, Sister. It's possible that what you are describing is a Ghoul, a corpse eater," His tone was careful, to inform not frighten further. Instead of further distress, however, Rosemary grimaced, with a look of discomfort and nausea.

"He seemed as if this new life was something blessed and wonderful, but how could anything that involves the consuming of corpses be wonderful?" 

"It isn't, Sister, nor is it blessed," Father Thomas nodded slowly at her words, "Such creatures have fallen to temptation, to the Devil's machinations, and thus debase themselves in ways that please him. Mister Kimble is no more, just a wretched creature of Hell left in his place".

Rosemary looked to her feet, "Is there anything we could have done? Anyway to bring people like that back to the light?"

With a blasé shrug and a serious tone, the Father responded with, "A bullet to the brain".

The nun startled, eyes snapping to him immediately as if to see if he was truly saying such a thing. 

"Father! You said a Sister shouldn't carry such a thing!" 

He raised an eyebrow, "And I stand by that, but you said Mister Davy was there, no? When you come across these devilish creatures again in the future, you must show the men who work on these cases that the proper thing the faithful should do is send these creatures back to their master with lead between their eyes". 

"But wouldn't that be leading others to murder, Father?" She did not seem to be speaking out against him, just trying to understand. 

"That is for you and your conscience to mull over, Sister, but murder is the unlawful killing of a person, and these are no longer people, just puppets of the Devil," The Father turned a hand over, as if holding a bible, "Blessed be the Lord, my rock, who trains my hands for war, and my fingers for battle".

Rosemary averted her eyes again, and Father Thomas, seemingly happy that she had be placated, gestured towards the door to the inside.

"Come now Sister, I believe the snow may be upon us, and your nose has turned red, let us return to our duties".


	4. Death Plays Cards

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ilya’s first run in with Nate

Ilya didn’t drink, he’d decided that a long time ago. One of his earliest memories was the sight of brown and green bottles glistening in the sunlight that peaked through the slats of a half closed blind, of the sour scent of left open beer filling the room and the decision that he would never partake in any of it. But desperate times called for desperate measures.

The half empty bottle of vodka sat perched between his thighs, pressing up against his elbow as he pressed his hand against his eyes. The tainted blood that thrummed through his veins had done a great job of flushing out the spirit from his system as fast as he could ingest it, it didn’t stop the burn in the back of his throat or behind his eyelids. He wasn’t going to cry, crying was for babies and bitches as Shannon had once said. He cringed at the thought of her and the banging in his head came charging back.

How had he fucked up again?

Something primal in the back of his mind screamed for him to press himself closer into the wall when he heard the sound of his shitty motel door being forced open from the outside, as if he could somehow melt into the wallpaper. Well, technically he could, the high contrast of the streetlights outside peeking through the ratty curtains and dark of his room left it cast in shadow but he couldn’t force the self preservation to melt into them, he didn’t care who was coming in. A shadow passed over him, blocking out the scant streetlight streaming in from outside, he pulled his hand away from his eyes to look up at the figure tiredly, it glared back with an all too familiar anger. He felt nothing.

He’d tried not be scared when he’d been bundled into a plane and taken halfway across the world, to a family that couldn’t understand or speak to him. The night he’d been paid the right amount to follow the wrong person had been the scariest experience of his life, nothing had compared to it. He’d been too stupid, too sloppy, looking back he knew he hadn’t stood a chance against her, he’d seen it in her eyes as when she’d looked down at him, bleeding like a pig for slaughter against the wall of the alley as he barely managed to keep himself upright. Nowadays, even the idea of being scared seemed to have bled out of him, the idea of someone breaking in to kill him (again) didn’t stir anything. So looking up at this figure that looked as though they had murder on their mind made him feel nothing.

He’d died once being sloppy and now it was going to happen again.  
The same situation, the right amount to follow the wrong person. Some chick who worked in a casino, he hadn’t even managed to get too far through an open window before he knew he’d been caught, barely managing to slip away into the shadows before it was too late. He knew that wouldn’t have been the end of it and right in front of him was the living, not breathing, proof.

Ilya cursed under his breath, setting the bottle aside and staring up at the figure blankly. Only now acknowledging the body the man had dragged in with him, a familiar flash of brown stained blond hair still didn’t manage to set his mind on edge, nor the way the guys face had been smashed in like another one of those glass bottles from his memory

“Just kill me” He sighed dragging a hand through his hair. The man scowled down at him before tossing the body down by his feet

“I wouldn’t come back to this apartment if I were you” He spat, turning away sharply. The man grabbed the broken door handle as if he were resisting the urge to crush it under his grip, he didn’t even give Ilya another look as he said “You have a job interview tomorrow at 10. Fail it and you’re dead”

He slammed the door closed as best he could. Ilya stared at his twin corpse by his feet, letting out a heavy breath as he let the back of his head against the wall. He lived to dance with death another day.


End file.
